Chapter 35

Beleriand ushered in a brief, decades-long calm, like the calm before the storm. The gates of Angband were closed, and Morgoth seemed to be licking his wounds and gathering strength. However, all those who had experienced the war knew that this superficial peace would not last long. The Dark Lord never gave up his evil plan to destroy the light.

Meereen found a relatively stable rhythm of life in Nargothrond. During the day, he would travel to the nearby human settlements. Drawing on his experience in Shagerion and Hithlum, as well as his affinity with the forces of life, he taught more effective medicine and battlefield first aid, striving to improve the survival chances of those caught in the midst of war. His kindness and skill earned him a deep love among the humans. At night, he would retreat to the grand and secure halls of the Elven Kingdom of Nargothrond, resting under the protection of Finrod.

Beneath this outward appearance of peace, Meereen's heart was never truly at peace. Beneath the garments that held the two Silmarils, warm and imbued with supreme brilliance, they lay like two red-hot irons. Finrod's heavy words about Fëanor's oath echoed in his mind like a spell: "Anyone who holds the Silmarils... automatically becomes an enemy of their oath... a target to be destroyed or taken." He could not imagine the devastating consequences if the Fëanorians learned that the Silmarils lay with him, in Nargothrond. Celegorm's rage, Curufin's calculations, Maglor's mind-bending song... all would be directed against Finrod and his beloved kingdom. He cherished Nargothrond and considered Finrod his friend and protector. How could he allow himself to be the source of such disaster?

The heavy burden and immense fear nearly crushed him. He dared not tell anyone, not even Finrod. The secret gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake. All he could do was to quietly, alone, in the dead of night, journey to a cold river near Nargothrond, a place he believed might connect to the realm of the Valar. He knelt on the cold, pebbled riverbank, clasped his hands, and prayed devoutly, calling upon the name of Esti, the gentlest of the Valar, the one who understood sorrow and healing. He prayed to see her in his dreams, to seek her guidance, to lift this almost unbearable burden.

"Lord Esti... what should I do? The gems are with me... are they a blessing or a curse? Why are they always accompanied by crying and tears wherever they go? The souls of the Fenorian brothers are suffering in the flames of their oaths. I have glimpsed the boundless pain in Maglor... is there no hope of relief?" His whispers mixed with the sound of gurgling water, full of confusion and helplessness.

Perhaps it was his piety and pain that penetrated the veil of the Valar, or perhaps Esti was always paying attention to this special soul that was free from the music. On a night with particularly bright stars, Meereen's prayers were finally answered.

As he drifted off to sleep, his consciousness seemed lifted by a gentle, warm breeze, and he once again stepped into the Gardens of Lórien, a place of eternal spring that existed only in memory and legend. Flowers bloomed, never withering, and the air was filled with an intoxicating sweetness. Gentle, beautiful, and radiant with a peaceful glow, Esther sat quietly among the flowers, waiting for him, her eyes filled with compassion.

"Meereen, my child," Esti's voice was like the softest pluck of a harp, soothing his anxious soul, "I hear your sorrow and your fear."

Meereen could no longer hold back, and he knelt before Esther, tears silently streaming down his face, as he told her the secret of the jewel, his fear of Fëanorion's oath, and his deep worry about the disaster that might happen to Nargothrond.

"Lady Esti, the Silmarils... don't they represent the glory of the Two Trees and the supreme blessing? But why... why do they bring only contention, betrayal, pain and endless curse? Fëanor's oath... is it really impossible to enforce it?" His voice was filled with despair.

Esti listened quietly, her eyes filled with a deep understanding of the suffering of the mortal world. She did not answer immediately, but gently stood up and held out her hand to Meereen: "Come, child, follow me."

Meereen took the hand that radiated warm light and followed Esti. They walked through the dream garden, and the scenery around them began to change. There were no guards, no other living creatures, only absolute tranquility, shrouded in a holy light. Finally, they came to a place whose grandeur and sacredness could not be described in words.

Before my eyes were the legendary two sacred trees—Laurelin and Telperion.

They blossomed with the most brilliant radiance of life. Laurelin's golden glow was like molten liquid sunlight, warm and bountiful, bringing life and growth wherever it touched. Telperion's silver halo was cool and pure, as if it had gathered the essence of all the stars, imbued with all-seeing wisdom and tranquility. The radiance of the two trees intertwined and flowed, forming a vast ocean of light, filled with indescribable harmony, beauty, and creativity. That light was more than a feast for the eyes; it was a cleansing for the soul, dispelling all gloom and bringing with it purest joy, hope, and a supreme reverence for life itself. Meereen held his breath, his soul as if completely purified and elevated by this supreme radiance. He understood, understood why Fëanor had created the Silmarils, and understood why the light within them was so precious—it was the embodiment of the most perfect and flawless light ever to exist.

Just when this ultimate beauty reached its peak, the picture came to an abrupt end.

Like the finest glass shattered, darkness poured down like sticky pitch, the shadow of Morgoth and the venom of Ungoliant horribly shattering the sacred light. The Two Trees withered and died in despair. The light that once illuminated all of Aman was instantly devoured, leaving only boundless darkness and heartbreaking sorrow. This stark contrast gripped Meereen's heart, nearly suffocating it.

The scene shifted again, and Meereen saw Yavanna with a resolute sadness on her face. After the Two Trees withered, she said, "The glory of the Two Trees is gone. Only the Silmarils of Fëanor contain their last, purest flame. Only with the help of this flame can the fire of life of the sacred trees be rekindled and they be revived." This reveals the irreplaceable value of the Silmarils in the eyes of the Valar - they are the only hope to revive the Two Trees and restore light.

The scene then shifts to Tirion. Fëanor stands atop a high platform, his face twisted with rage, grief, and a near-fiery paranoia. He has just inherited the throne of the High King of the Noldor. Before the enraged throng of his people, he utters the curse that changed the fate of countless lives: "Whoever holds the Silmaril—Elf, Man, Morgoth, or any other creature—will be our sworn enemy! And whoever stands in our way will be our sworn enemy!" His voice is like tempered steel, cold and filled with destructive force, and every word sears like a branding iron into the hearts of Meereen.

Esti's voice sounded in Meereen's ears like a sigh, answering his last question: "Child, you see. The jewel itself is the crystallization of light and the seed of hope. It is Feanor's oath, like the strongest chain, binding the holder to endless disputes. The power of this oath comes from the origin of their souls, made in the name of Ilúvatar, and deep in the bone marrow. It can only be lifted by the jewel itself, or ended by the oath-taker paying the ultimate price." Her words were like a cold judgment, declaring that the oath curse was unsolvable.

Meereen's heart sank. He understood what Esther was hinting at: returning the Silmaril to the Fëanorians might be the only way to release them from their oath, but that would mean he would have to face the cursed fire, sending the Silmaril into a vortex that could bring even greater disaster. Holding the Silmaril would mean he would forever be the target of the oath, bringing endless danger to those around him. It was a dead end.

"What should I do?" Milin's voice was dry and desperate.

Esti gently stroked Meereen's head, her eyes full of love and a deep insight into fate: "Your path, my child, is something only you can choose. Every decision you make will be like a stone thrown into the lake of fate, causing unpredictable ripples. This is about the jewel, the oath, and the future of the entire Arda. You must think carefully." Her figure and the glorious garden in the dream began to blur.

"Wait! Lady Esti!" Meereen stretched out his hand, but only caught a dissipating point of light.

The morning sun shone through the delicate windows of Nargothrond, illuminating Meereen's pale face. He snapped his eyes open, his heart still pounding with the visions of his dream. The unrivaled radiance of the Two Trees, the sudden withering darkness, Yavanna's words, Fëanor's destructive oath, and Esti's final warning weighed on him like a heavy lead, nearly suffocating him. He sat up and gazed out at the vibrant courtyard, yet a deep sorrow gripped his heart. The road ahead was shrouded in mist, and every step seemed to lead to a precipice.

This heavy sorrow even affected his daytime journey. When he was about to go to the human village, his steps seemed a little heavy. Just before noon, an unexpected news broke the peace of Nargothrond. The messenger from Doriath arrived, covered in dust.

The messenger brought news that plunged all of Nargothrond into sorrow: Beren, the great hero of Men, and Lúthien Tinúviel, who had chosen the fate of Men and renounced immortality, had completed the final journey of their legendary lives and passed away peacefully in their home in Tol Galen. Upon hearing the news, Finrod's golden eyes were filled with deep sorrow and longing.

But the messenger's mission was not over yet. He turned to Meereen, his expression solemn and sad. "Lord Meereen, before her death, Princess Lúthien had a clear wish regarding the ownership of the Silmaril. She believed that the power and destiny of the gem, which contained the brilliance of the Two Trees, were too heavy to remain in Doriath. She believed in your wisdom, courage, and love for this land, and she hoped that you would keep the gem safe."

The messenger paused, looked directly at the shocked Meereen, and added: "Princess Lúthien also said, 'It is up to him to decide the final fate of this star. I believe in him, just as I believe in Beren's choice.'" There was a subtle hint of profound meaning in the messenger's words, as if implying that Lúthien's eyes that could see through fate had already seen through the secret hidden in Meereen - he was carrying the other two Silmarils.

"Thus," the messenger concluded, "by the command of Lord Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien, lord of Tol Galen, I come to bid you, Lord of Meereen, accompany me to Tol Galen. There Lord Dior himself will give you the relic of the Lady Lúthien, the Silmaril that Beren retrieved from the crown of Morgoth, in fulfillment of his mother's last wish."

The entire hall was silent. Finrod looked at Meereen in shock. He was keenly aware that when Meereen heard about the jewel and the will, his face turned pale as paper, and his body even swayed slightly. It was not just sadness, but a look of fear and realization, as if he had been struck by a great fate.

Meereen stood there, feeling the ground beneath his feet spin. One diamond after another! Lúthien had even entrusted him with the jewel she had exchanged her life and love for.

All three lost Silmarils will be gathered into him.

Estë's dreams, Fëanor's oath, instantly wrapped around him like icy chains, nearly suffocating him. Lúthien's trust, like warm sunlight, couldn't illuminate the bottomless abyss of darkness before him, driven by the curse of the oath. He instinctively clutched his chest. The two cold gems, as if sensing the approaching third companion, emitted an indescribable, sacred, and heart-pounding pulsation.

He looked at Finrod, and under the Elf King's worried and bewildered gaze, he spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse but heavy with resignation: "I understand... Please inform Lord Dior that Meereen has accepted Lady Lúthien's request. I will accompany you to Tol Galen." He knew that the moment he accepted the jewel, he would become the absolute focus of the burning oath, with no escape. The peace of Nargothrond might truly be coming to an end.